Hooked: A Stepbrother Romance (3 page)

I’m not writing this shit.

It’s stupid. You’re stupid.

Actually, you can just go fuck yourself.

I let out a long sigh, staring at the ceiling of my ridiculously oversized hotel room while I toweled myself dry. Even with the unusually hot spring afternoon, a warm bath had seemed like a good idea after this morning's tense meeting with Emilia.
 

I’d known what I was in for with the Goodman Youth Center; I’d
wanted
to be in it. Rugby and troubled teens I could deal with. I’d been dealing with them my whole life.

But Emilia Jones, holy fuck.

I hadn’t expected the awkward girl to have transformed into such a gorgeous woman.

It had been all I could do to breathe when I first saw her, kneeling on the floor in that long, dismal corridor, her sweet ass sticking out in front of me. She was dripping wet, looking like a million pounds.

Yeah, I’d known what I was in for. I’d wanted it, for years. Except she was never supposed to look like that. Bloody hell.

Even in my wildest dreams, I hadn’t expected how I would feel being in the same room with her. The few pictures I’d seen did her no justice at all, overlooking the fine curves of her figure, the overwhelming aura of femininity she projected. Back then, she’d been underweight and lanky, still attractive but not the zipper-bursting bombshell she’d turned into over the past thirteen years.
 

I opened my suitcase, pulling out a couple shirts and dress pants. Grabbing my rucksack from the floor, I rummaged through a mess of old shorts, rugby jerseys, and toiletries before reaching the zipped interior pocket. Safe inside it, I felt the familiar leather-bound outline bulging through the fabric.
 

Emilia Jones, all grown up. Jesus. Her face was still covered in freckles, her expression still capable of lighting up the room. Not that I could ever see her smile directly, of course. I could only catch it from the side, when she was talking to someone else, when she forgot I was there. Still, it was exactly the same radiant smile I remembered from so long ago.

Maybe that was the hardest part, the ways she hadn’t changed. I could’ve spotted her anywhere in a crowd, because in some ways she looked exactly the same. A set of plump, pink lips with an adorable overbite. Almond-shaped green eyes framed by long, dark eyelashes. Long chestnut hair bunched up in a ponytail. Even the ringlets around her face looked the same.

How many times had I wondered that? If we’d ever met in the street, would we even recognize each other?

Well, I had my answer. A resounding
yes
. Instantly. She’d looked at me, and the sparkle in her beautiful eyes changed to disbelief, then pure disgust. It had taken her all of three seconds.

I couldn’t blame her. Hell, I’d been
expecting
it. Still, the intensity of her hatred had tugged at my heart in a way I’d not quite anticipated.
 

“Not very useful without me.” Bloody hell. That had been such a killer line, really. Not my finest moment, and I wasn’t certainly going to go far like that. And yet very little had ever mattered to me as much as being here now.

Yeah, I’d been prepared. Right up until the moment I saw the hurt in her eyes.

Now, I just had to hope all of this wasn’t a huge mistake. At least for her sake.

I don’t need this place.
 

I don’t need this fucking life.

I don’t need you, or your damn rugby.

I gulped down the last of my diner coffee, the burnt taste stabbing my tongue as I watched the scene unfold just outside the window. So far, the morning wasn’t off to a great start, and Emilia’s little show of defiance told me everything I needed to know about what to expect from the next few hours.

Running my fingers through my hair, I sighed. As bitter as the coffee was, it still had nothing on my lovely stepsister. Not that I could blame her, of course. Whatever it was she was planning, I was quite certain I deserved it.

No, scratch that. Whatever it was, I deserved
worse
.

Still, hadn’t that been part of why I came here in the first place? If I wanted to make peace with my past, I needed to start with her. After all, I’d let her down worse than I had anyone else.

Anyone who’s still living
, I corrected myself with a wince.

I stood up and pulled out my wallet, slamming a large bill on the table. Johnnie had been more than accommodating during the two hours I’d been chugging coffee and stuffing my face with sausages. He’d even stood up for me to one of his regulars, a blue-haired old lady who’d quietly complained of
the new element
when she first saw me.

Johnnie was a good guy, and the least I could do was tip him well.

Outside the diner, West Field was smaller than I remembered it. Smaller, and a lot less green. The recent heat wave had not been kind to it, islands of emerald receding before a tide of dry yellow grass. Still, it was a small price to pay if I actually give something back here.

Give something back and, of course, spend time with Emilia.

She’d arrived at the field about half an hour ago, her ponytail swinging in unison with her fast jog as she approached. I wouldn’t have believed it possible, but somehow she looked even sexier today than she had yesterday. How the
hell
she managed that, I’ll never know.

Maybe it was just because she hadn’t noticed me yet, the dim incandescent bulbs of Johnnie’s Diner making it harder to see in than it was for me to see out. Whatever the reason, I’d stared at her body in awed silence as she sat down on one of the benches that Adam and I had moved onto the field last night.

She pulled an old paper bag out from her backpack, setting it between her legs, before she finally and clearly made eye contact with me. I’d expected some kind of reaction, but instead she…just kept sitting.

No talking, no acknowledgment, not even moving.

Just
sitting
.

She was impassive and statuesque, and the sight chilled me to the bone. She stayed like that for almost half an hour, until the first couple of players began to trickle in a few minutes ago. They were very early, and I should’ve known then that Emilia was up to no good.

Snapping out of her trance, she greeted them with a familiar smile and pulled two pieces of fabric out of the bag. She gave one to each of them, and something finally clicked.

I knew that smile. It was the one she’d always had whenever she was getting away with something, back during those two awful summers we spent together.

I stared out the window, the other players streaming in quickly now. She didn’t waste any time before getting started, not even waiting for me to come out. After handing out fabric strips to everyone, she blew on her whistle and sorted everyone into teams.

Suddenly, her plan was clear as hell.

She’d lied to me about when we’d begin, expecting me to show up late and with egg on my face. It was only by dumb luck I’d decided to wait at Johnnie’s, and she still obviously had no intention of working with me. Without giving me a proper introduction to the players, she was relegating me from coach to bystander.

It wasn’t surprising. She’d always been resourceful, even when we were young. I’d had an attitude, but she had
spirit
. I was just a rebellious bastard, while she was the golden child who succeeded at everything. A track and field star, impeccable academics, and the stepdaughter my father loved more than his own flesh and blood. She gave me a run for my money all right, both then and now.

Grabbing my sports bag and slinging it over my shoulder, I ran out of the diner and straight towards the crowd of players. They were putting on those strips of fabric, which I could now clearly see.

It was the old, worn-down vests emblazoned with Johnnie’s logo. I laughed, feeling the weight of my shiny new vests bouncing over my back as I ran. I’d clearly been outplayed.

If this was round one, she’d won it hands down.